Love Trap
by black.maple.tree
Summary: The only thing that Kyouya Ootori couldn't comprehend was impracticality. She was capricious; he was all logic. Love, loyalty, language, literature: where was the gain in it all? KyouyaOC KyouyaxOC


I do not own Ouran High School Host Club.

_Chapter One: Heart on Her Sleeve_

Kyouya sat fidgeting impatiently on the bench outside the head counselor's office. He needed to make a cabin change _immediately_. Being dragged to this backwater commoner's summer camp had been atrocious enough to begin with, but the thought of spending three whole months in the same room as Tamaki was _unbearable_, and he simply would not put up with it.

The office was located in a corner of the small, un-air-conditioned cafeteria. The room had long, chipped dining tables and scattered metal folding chairs, all complete with their own unique coatings of age-old vandalism. Food was served at a humble window with a broken garage-like screen, currently pulled up for the transportation of plain sticky rice and measly portions of dried fish to the hundred or so students hungrily crowding the room.

He watched the countless blue-shirted campers scamp about the area, all cheering happily and greeting old friends. The head counselor still hadn't come out yet; what she could _possibly _be doing, he couldn't feign to have an idea. Nothing in the camp appeared to be appropriately taken care of, and no one except the few middle-age volunteer lunch ladies was watching the kids. Everything was so… _disorganized_.

_Damn it, Tamaki… I swear, if I can't switch to a different cabin, I'll kill him…_

Tamaki had decided that the two of them should take a "field trip" to celebrate their graduation from high school. After all, they'd be starting university in three months and it was their last chance to "chill out" (commoner's term, no doubt) before cracking down on college work. Ignorant to the plans Tamaki had had in mind, Kyouya had agreed to what he'd presumed would be a _day_ trip. So when his insane, unconcerned, idiotic friend had barged into his bedroom at four thirty the previous morning, he'd been taken completely by surprise. Tamaki had proceeded to pack all Kyouya's necessities into a duffle bag—conveniently forgetting his phone, pager, wallet, and identification—and had excitedly dragged the grouchy eighteen year old from his mattress out the front door to a filthy, exhaust-leaking school bus.

Their destination: Camp Oceanview.

There was no GPS system on the camp grounds, nor did any of the maps succeed in telling him where in the world he was. Tamaki had neglected to look up the location of the small town in which the camp was situated. Kyouya himself had been so grumpy and drowsy on the loud, camp-song singing school bus that he hadn't noticed whether or not they'd crossed a bridge or tunnel to another Japanese Island. He couldn't tell whether they'd traveled within Honshu, all the way up to Hokkaido, south to Shikoku, or out of the country altogether.

_Where is that camp director?_ he thought in aggravation, his arms tightly crossed. _I need to switch rooms now. Or better yet, get out of here…_

Around him, boys and girls of ages fifteen to twenty-one were gossiping, yelling to friends across the room, and gorging themselves on the cheap, poorly seasoned foods to celebrate the start of the new camp year. From what he'd gathered, the camp wasn't a daycare center. Teenagers and young adults came together every year to experience this backward, outdoors life. It was a vacation to them—their getaway from school and from parents. This meant that the administration was almost nonexistent (and the head counselor, difficult to catch). Real adults were scarce, since the grounds were run by camper volunteers and elected representatives. Cabins were assigned randomly unless a specific request for a roommate was made. And the worst part was the lack of payphones. The location of the nearest land-line phone, from what he could gather, was unknown by any of the campers.

The door knob of the counselor's room squeaked as it turned, and Kyouya looked up eagerly to see her exit. But the person who opened the worn-down wooden door was not a dignified director; rather, she was a girl only a year or two older than he was, shaking her hands to dry her recently applied nail-polish, holding an outdated pink cell phone that had been colored on with neon sharpie. Her high pony-tail bounced as she walked happily toward the bustling mess hall.

Kyouya felt his blood boil. _She was painting her nails and talking on her cell phone?_ _Isn't she supposed to be an official?_

"Excuse me," he called, forcing himself to be pleasant. He stepped in stride with her and casually placed his hands in his pockets. She stopped and gave him a friendly smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes… it appears there's been a mistake with my room," he started, putting on the charming look that had been so popular in the host club. He'd sold hundreds of host picture books with that smile.

"I'm sorry," she said with sympathy, "but there are no real room assignments. All the cabins are full and were chosen by request. You'd have to talk to another boy and see if he'd be willing to switch with you. Unless you'd rather set up a tent—we have plenty left over," she offered.

_No room assignments?_ He nearly twitched at the nonchalance with which this camp was run. How could they leave such planning to the _campers_? What if there were conflicts? Obviously if the people were free to choose their own rooms, no one would want to switch with him and leave his friends behind. And he shuddered at the thought of spending three months in a cheap material sack through the wind and rain.

"No, that's alright…" he digressed, the smile replaced by a calculating frown. Just as she was about to walk away, he caught sight of the sun's gleam on her cell phone. His blood rushed with hope.

"Wait! Could I use your cell phone for a moment? It's an emergency," he almost exclaimed. The girl nodded and held the pink capsule out to him, her easy-going generosity like nothing he'd ever encountered at school. Most girls would blush and squeal to have him borrow their cell phones.

His fingers dialed the number automatically, a desperate excitement to _get away from here_ overriding his common sense. He held the phone to his ear and listened intently to the ringing, picturing a maid in his household rushing to answer his call. It came as a surprise, then, when instead of a familiar voice, he heard the robotic "Call out of range" respond to his urgent plea. He stared at the screen for a moment, absorbing the old model's blinking text that reiterated the message. He numbly handed the phone back to the counselor, who had been waving to her friends across the cafeteria.

"Did you make your call?" she asked cheerfully.

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid my call was not within range…"

"Oh, I'm sorry—I forgot! I only get service within three miles of my phone."

Her friendly smile was starting to turn him sour. Apparently no one in this camp had any notion to prepare for emergencies. His calls would reach only _three miles_ from the camp site, and he didn't even know where he was.

"Oh," was his bitter reply. When he said nothing more, the girl gave him one more apology, and then she turned on her heel and skipped away to meet her friends: all equally as bouncy and cheerful.

Kyouya distractedly eased himself back onto the bench. Entering the cafeteria was a definite _impossibility_; he was not in the right frame of mind to deal with the immature nonsense of the campers. The only thought occupying his mind was how he could get out of the campsite and to the nearest city. From there, certainly, he could arrange for a car to take him home.

As he gauged his choices and the various outcomes of each one, a girl holding her own pink cell phone traversed the area in front of him. He paid the figure no mind until she began spouting strange gibberish into the phone, apparently chastising someone on the other end. It was only then that he looked up to examine her: a foreigner, apparently, with rich brown hair and eyes to match.

_Why would there be a foreigner here? A student from abroad? An exchange program? __Or perhaps we _are _near a city…_

"Kazu, _non entrare nella mia camera! Saprò quando torno, lo sai_."

There was a pause, during which her glossed lips formed a scowl.

"_Mi hai sentito? Non entrare_—hey! Kazu?"

She slammed the phone shut with a groan when she heard the dial tone begin and crossed her arms in irritation. "Stupid little brothers," he heard her mutter. His interest was slightly peaked at the discovery that she did in fact speak Japanese, but his frustration with his whole predicament was too great for him to care to do research. No one in this camp was worth researching anyway, since no one would be of use to his family.

He was about to sink back into his thoughts and plans of escape when the girl, peeved and provoked, plopped down on his bench. He shot her a warning glance that stated he was not sociable, but she continued to glare at her phone.

His personal space had been invaded, unfortunately, but he refused to waste time. Tamaki was chatting with a group of campers he'd met on the long, unbearable bus ride. Kyouya was determined to get at least himself, if not both of them, out of this hell-hole before things could become any worse. _And if Tamaki gives me any trouble, I'll just leave him here. Annoying bastard…_

The girl next to him let out an extremely audible sigh, and after a few seconds of silence, another one. He examined her out of the corner of his eye and saw her raise her hands above her head to stretch, as if horrendously bothered by her comparably insignificant troubles. No one could be as disturbed as he was, he thought.

The girl sighed again, in distress. Kyouya was about to open his mouth and ask her to seat herself elsewhere when he noticed the bars of service on her cell. There were two—more than the other girl had had. With a change in attitude, he calmly moved to tap her on the shoulder to inquire as to whether he could borrow her phone.

However, before he could get her attention, she began furiously dialing a number. The dark-haired boy bit his lip to prevent any frustration from showing. Things were not going his way today; he wasn't sure he'd ever get home before the designated return-bus arrival, scheduled for three months later.

To make matters worse, his bench-mate started up again with a new conversation, still in her incomprehensible foreign prattle. Her voice was sharp at times and always animated. She spoke loudly and clearly, with no regard for her surroundings. Impatiently, she crossed her legs and drummed her fingers on the wooden seat.

"_Ti prego sorvegliare da vicino mio fratello quest'estate. Non gli permettere ad andare in camera mia! _Get it_, _Mariko?"

Kyouya's brow twitched in vexation as the shrill conversation carried on.

"_Lo so: è un lavoro enorme. Ti pagherò quando ritorno, se vuoi_."

It went on for minutes that seemed like hours to the suffering teenager. He was much too exhausted to go in search of another bench, and sitting with the crowd was definitely out of the question. All he wanted was to make a call and be on his way to a limo or private helicopter—whichever.

"_Va bene. Spero che non ti dia tanti guai_. _Grazie._"

When the discussion ended, the girl went back to her dreadful sighing. It repeated every few minutes, each one louder and more obnoxious than its predecessor. If it weren't a girl next to him, he wouldn't have stalled in using aggression to free himself of the burden.

He kept a watch on her movements, and when he saw her take another deep, deep breath, he decided to humor her before she could let it out. Clearly, she wanted something from him. The only way to chase her off was to let her ask so he could refuse. Besides, she had a cell phone. It certainly was worth a try, he thought.

He tried to suppress his anger and called upon the suaveness from his Host Club days. Cheery sympathy would make the perfect façade, he decided.

"I'm sorry, but is something troubling you, miss?"

To his disbelief, she turned to him as if surprised that he'd opened his mouth. She shook her head to dismiss the notion, and her legs, covered by a denim mini-skirt, swung back and forth carelessly.

"No, everything's fine. Thanks for asking," she responded politely, in perfect Japanese. Her voice was less animated, he noted, and much higher to blend in with the usual feminine manner of speaking.

He nodded to oblige her answer, but could scoff in agitation. _Don't pretend that you weren't waiting to be asked._

Holding back any evidence of his ill-will, he asked, "I was just wondering, could I borrow your phone for a moment?"

At his words, she delivered to him a flirtatious smile. The sudden gleam in her eyes nearly threw him off his mental-balance: how could one person change attitudes so quickly? This one was impossible to read, but apparently he'd provoked her interest and gotten more involved than he'd have liked. No matter, though, he thought. After he made his call, he could express to her in whatever tone he liked the extent of his indifference.

The smile read, "Sure, take it." Her hair seemed to fall freely over her shoulders, creating a silken curtain effect. She didn't refrain one bit from locking her brown, foreign eyes directly with his dark ones. Nonetheless, it was not enough to stun the stoic Kyouya Ootori. He ignored the play for attention and took the phone hesitantly from her outstretched hand. Once again he dialed his home number.

And once again, there was no signal.

_Damn it!_

"Something the matter?" she asked, her head cocked to the side, her pink lips forming a small, sympathetic frown.

He skipped the formalities and went straight to the core of his concerns. "Is there any service at all on this campsite?"

"Cell service? Only within a few miles. Where are you trying to call?"

"Farther," he said with a grimace. He handed the pink phone back to her without a word of gratitude; he was much too preoccupied.

She accepted it disappointedly and eyed him carefully to determine whether or not he was still approachable. He seemed frigid and partial to disregard: not her favorite type to deal with, but she supposed it would be a thrilling challenge for the start of the summer. She lounged back on the bench and flipped her hair back, hoping at least to alert him of her lingering presence if not to draw his attention.

He didn't make any move to strike up conversation, and she could tell her voice was not currently wanted. However, she refused to leave just yet. To pass the time, she pulled out her CD player and dug her ear-plugs out of her mock-designer clutch. Being that no one of consequence was nearby and her neighbor obviously wasn't yet interested, she didn't need to put any thought into her selection. She scrolled through her songs until she found a sweet ballad. It was a song she'd known since she was a child. Normally, she refrained from playing anything but pop when the other campers were flocked around her, to keep up appearances. But she liked to think she had much deeper "taste" than that.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. He sat brooding, thinking deeply, not paying his surroundings much heed. She hated to be ignored; she was sure she could thaw that icy resolve. After a minute of his continued silence, she decided to let the song subtly fall from her lips.

His concentration faltered when her voice reached his ears. It was soft and little more than a hum. It held secrets. It held indefinite weight. When she caught him about to glance at her, she looked at her hands and pretended to be oblivious, continued her singing.

"Will you be leaving?" he finally demanded of her. The song was haunting and so strange to his ears; he didn't want_ any _noise to distract him from his thoughts, much less some foreign lullaby.

The girl didn't respond. She sat comfortably with her legs crossed, examining her clear-coated nails. He thought for a moment his voice might not be able to penetrate through her headphones, but he couldn't_ hear _the music from his seat. He deducted that the volume was indeed low enough for her to hear, and that she simply didn't care.

Her voice continued uninterrupted.

_How obnoxious…_

"Excuse me, but do you mind?" he tried again, speaking a little louder. This time he was _certain_ she'd heard him, but still the song went undisturbed.

Finally, he reached over and forcefully yanked the earpiece off her head. She looked at him as if appalled that he'd do such a thing, which made him pause and remind himself that_ she_ was the one ruining the peace, not he.

"If you don't mind," he began icily, "I'm trying to_ think_. Go sing somewhere else, and don't bother me again."

She raised an eyebrow and, maintaining her insulted demeanor, took the headphones from his cold, cold hand. His lack of self-control did surprise her, for she'd have thought someone so collected would be able to remain so in any situation. Deciding that she would need to do some serious planning, she shrugged her shoulders as if to say the loss was all his and strutted off with her headphones back over her ears.

Kyouya watched her leave in mild fascination that someone could be so obvious and oblivious. There was a calculating spark in her eye, however, that struck him as curious. She'd been so outrageously needy for attention, and yet her gaze seemed to betray that conclusion. For a second—_only_ for a second—he thought that plots and schemes might be hiding behind those brown eyes.

But he dismissed that notion. After all, he was in a commoner's camp. No one had any need to_ calculate_ or seek personal gains here.

~…~

"So where are we going exactly? I hope you remembered to take a map," the shadow king chided.

"We're almost there—trust me, Kyouya! This is going to be great! It's an adventure!"

"An adventure on which I was unwilling dragged to accompany you." His energy was limited to just a snappy response, having spent the entire afternoon picking out campers with whom to trade places. None had acquiesced, and so for the time being he would be forced to endure the nights in Tamaki's cabin, with his commoner friends, and their commoner games….He grimaced each time he thought of it.

"Aha! Here we are: Seagull Point, the lake side. Everyone should be right around here…"

Before Tamaki could locate the meeting place himself, an excited camper jumped out from behind a wall of bushes and called out for them to join him. Leaves stuck to his hair and clothes but he nonchalantly brushed them off. The two were together in their initial surprise, but contrary in their reactions: Tamaki eagerly followed his friend to his group's secret hiding place, whereas Kyouya lagged behind to examine the hedges and determine if there were another way to get around instead. He was pulled into the mess of leaves before he could even check the perimeter of the area. When he emerged, his hair was littered with the grime and his arm scraped from the branches. He clenched his jaw shut in irritation. _I swear, if I can't get out of here…_

"Okay! Everyone's here, so let's get started," one boy announced.

Tamaki and Kyouya occupied the last two empty places in the circle. It appeared that boys and girls sat on opposite sides, with the leader in between the genders on one end. A fire blared in the middle, and several lanterns lit up the area from trees and atop boulders. Fireflies also gave their share of light, as well as the screens of a few game consoles peeking out from jacket pockets.

"Most everyone here is a returning player, right? Then the rules should still be crystal clear from last year's intense challenge," the boy stated, earning some smiles and nods of agreement from his cohorts. Kyouya found himself totally in the dark; he had been told by Tamaki that they were meeting friends to have a celebratory bon fire. He hadn't been informed of any "challenge," and he certainly did not want to participate.

"But I understand we have some new faces as well. A few freshman and couple of high school grads?"

Tamaki nodded and leaned forward in earnest.

"Then let's go over the basic rules before we get into the specifics for this year," he suggested. Already Kyouya felt as though he was being forced into something that required _commitment_. He'd been fooled into coming to this backwater camp to begin with; he refused flat-out to join this camp circle's field day games. He refused to tie himself down to anything in this camp. He was still bent on escaping the grounds.

"The game is called Love Trap," began the presiding camper. "It's a tradition our circle holds each year that lasts the duration of the camp season. We each pick a name from a hat—names of "outside" campers who don't know about our circle here. The main objective is to win the heart of the person whose name you've picked as quickly and as smoothly as possible. We judge the champion on the last night."

Hearing the details of their custom brought the campers to engage in excited chatter. Kyouya, however, could only replay the objective in his head; the idea was so ludicrous, such a shallow waste of time and energy!

"There is a secondary competition," he added. "Aside from winning the love of your selected target, you should try to attract as many admirers as possible. The boy and girl who come out on top are unofficial winners in their own right, so long as they've completed the main task. It's been used as a tie-breaker once or twice, and it makes things more interesting. Sakae there can tell you all about it—she's won this contest three years in a row!"

He motioned toward a girl sitting across from him. She gave a small smile of acknowledgement but nothing more. Cradled in her hand was her CD player, which clearly occupied more of her attention than the explanation taking place. Kyouya's eyes froze on the girl and he recognized her immediately: she was the obnoxious foreigner from before.

"It's a competition, of course, so some of our members get carried away." He shot a few campers a mock warning look, to which they looked about innocently. "It is recommended that you keep your target secret," he explained. "Otherwise someone else might just get to him or her before you."

The new faces nodded, paying careful attention and absorbing the rules like sponges. Kyouya's was the only sour face in the crowd. He sat rigidly with his arms crossed and glasses pushed up. Every so often he found himself glancing toward the foreigner. Everything made sense now—she way she'd strived to win his attention, the hair flips and flirtatious smiles: she'd been trying to make him part of her game.

"I'd also like to emphasize what's really the only restriction: your tactics must be clean and honest. We don't want scandals here. Any unchaste conduct is to be reported and the player disqualified."

The campers nodded solemnly to oblige their leader's speech. However, the dim firelight was not enough to judge the sincerity on each face.

"Now that that's out of the way, let's get things started! I have here two hats filled with names of everyone on the outside. Girls will pick from this one here, and boys from this one. Sakae and Tatsuo, as last year's winners, will get first pick."

He crossed the circle to the boy and girl sitting side by side, dividing the two groups. He first handed an old baseball cap to Sakae, who collectedly fished through the slips of paper until she was satisfied. The slip she pulled out remained tightly folded and sat in her lap as she passed the hat to the next girl in line. Meanwhile, the boy Tatsuo was given an old black snow hat with an equal amount of names. He scooped one up immediately and passed the container on.

"Isn't this great, Kyouya? It's our first day here and we're already making friends! Ooh, I can't wait to play!" the bright eyed billionaire exclaimed. "It's just like being at the Host Club again, isn't it?"

"I'm not playing," Kyouya declared. "You must be an idiot if you think I'd waste my time on such a ridiculous game." His tone was apparently louder than he'd intended, for the entire process halted and all eyes directed their focus on him.

"What? But we've already begun selecting names!" cried a girl. Both boys and girls shot him dirty looks and whispered gossip to their neighbors. Other audible laments followed, but Kyouya remained steadfast in his rejection. The president sighed and motioned for the hats to be passed back, for the ordeal to start over. The dissenter looked around curiously as everyone, though reluctant, dropped their chosen names back into the respective hats.

"Then we have to restart. You're on the outside now," was the only explanation he received. The leader pulled a blank sheet of paper from his pocket and began to scribble down another name. Kyouya's very thoughts stumbled when he realized what was about to take place, and he quickly made to stop it.

"Wait—I just said I don't want to play. Don't put _me_ in that pile," he commanded. The boy raised an eyebrow and proceeded to drop the new name into the girls' hat.

"All outsiders are included in our drawing. Sorry, man. Those are the rules."

His vein twitched and his eyes narrowed to slits. Every face was turned toward him, all of them in absolute shock that someone had declined to participate. One girl whispered to a friend that it was the first time in the game's history that the names had to be re-chosen.

"Kyouya, c'mon—don't ruin it!" pleaded his friend. "These are our friends!"

"_Your_ friends," he corrected in a low voice. "I don't even want to be here." Tamaki watched him anxiously, silently, until the raven-haired boy let out an irritated sigh.

"_Fine_. But don't expect me to fall for any of your tricks," he warned the group icily.

Relief fell over the circle and the selection process recommenced. When the hat came to him, Kyouya disgustedly passed it to the neighboring set of eager hands. He observed the ritual with his critical eye. Each slip of paper stayed neatly folded in its owner's lap until the presiding camper signaled that they could be opened.

There was a variety of reactions to the unfolding of the papers. Girls squealed or complained; boys whistled or shouted profane disappointments. Kyouya found himself once again glancing over to the foreign girl, unconsciously curious of her reaction. Her face showed instantaneous, silent disgust, and she refolded the paper almost immediately. She hid her displeasure by turning back to her music, tuning out the loud bemoans and excited chatter of others.

"Well, who did you get?" Kyouya casually asked his friend. Tamaki held the paper with both hands, his face shining with determination and uncontrollable enthusiasm.

"It's a secret—remember, Kyouya? Wouldn't want you competing with me now!" he teased.

He gave a small, concealed laugh. "Don't worry—I'm not interested."

"Really, Kyouya—you should have joined in! It'll be just like in high school. You would have been a great rival for me in this contest!"

The shadow king rolled his eyes and pulled out his notebook. He flipped open to a blank page and began to jot down some notes. "Whatever you say," he said. "But if you ask me, you're wasting your time. I can't even comprehend it."

Tamaki gave him a smile of pity, which Kyouya chose to ignore. The retired host wandered easily over to the friends he'd made earlier that day, to let out his excitement and discuss wooing strategies.

"Simpletons," Kyouya thought condescendingly, sparing them a glance. "There's absolutely nothing to gain."

~…~

Author's Note: First Ouran story. Not sure how long it will take me to continue this, but I hope it's enjoyable for the time being!

I'm not entirely fluent in Italian. I'll eventually check over all the dialogue to correct whatever may be wrong.


End file.
